


Wordless

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, No words, Sex, Sofa cuddles, Unspoken Love, Valentine's Day Fluff, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: Sherlock and John have been friends for a very long time, and their relationship has changed several times but today, they've finally reached the goal they've never spoken of.





	Wordless

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/357510) by http://comfortcomfort.tumblr.com/post/6819258906/couch-cuddling-its-the-only-way-to-snuggle. 



> I knocked this off one hour before going to work, so if there are egregious errors, my apologies. I saw this picture on Tumblr and the words just came to me.

Sherlock wasn’t sure how it all started but he wasn’t sorry it had. So what if he’d never before been deemed capable of such acts previously? He was a human being, and all human beings evolved during their lifetimes. It had taken him this long to grow in this way, and he would never be ashamed of it. Right now, Sherlock was pressed against the back of the sofa at 221 B Baker Street with John Watson plastered to his front. The good doctor had his back to Sherlock, and his sleeping body was sagging bonelessly, fitting itself perfectly against him.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took in every moment as completely as he could. This was a bliss he’d never once suspected he’d get to experience and he didn’t want to forget an instant of it. He streamed every bit of data he captured right into a special floor of his mind palace, because a room, even a wing, it wasn’t enough, not for John. John was _more_.

Sherlock felt his arms around John’s firm body. Their shared warmth was only part of the perfect comfort and ease that Sherlock was feeling right then. There was also the scent of John, that elusive and almost hidden blend of impressions that sank deep into the most primal portions of Sherlock’s brain, a smell he knew as John, and it told him so many things. John was a valiant warrior, a modern knight, certain and deadly. He was also a doctor, that gentle patient healer and plain talker, and somehow, those aspects of John’s life came across in his amazing scent, something that reminded Sherlock of cool still forests but also of heat radiated from sun-scorched sand in a remorseless desert. John was both and he was neither, he was a living conundrum of extremes, somehow bound and caged by Arran jumpers and second-hand trousers. John was amazing.

Sherlock’s life had been a lonely one for a very long time, and he hadn’t minded, then. Now, Sherlock couldn’t imagine his world without John in it. He was the best sort of friend, the most reliable kind of backup, the most useful type of assistant, partner, person, ever to have existed. John wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t need to be. Even when John was cranky, or moody, or feeling the darkness of his past, prickly and self-isolating, he was beautiful to Sherlock, because Sherlock understood John. Just as John fit Sherlock, Sherlock fit John.

Their lives were chaotic at time. Cases were often dangerous, but that was the lure of it. They both ran recklessly right toward it time and again without fail, the two of them together against the world. It was perfect. High crime was the perfect puzzle for Sherlock to engage the entirety of his mind, and if the suspect or suspects got rough, well then, he and John were always ready for a fight. John loved the chance to utilize his rather specialized knowledge in what hurt the human body. He was a master at it. John didn’t need mass or height to defeat their foes, he had cunning as well as skill. John was a brilliant fighter, his technique an insane melange of styles. John had made many friends while he was in the army, and they’d happily shared their knowledge with him. Most criminals in London had no idea how to counter him, and most often, never had a chance at all. John was fantastic.

It wasn’t until after that the other part of John came out, and it made Sherlock marvel time and again as John seemed to shut off his adrenaline rushes like they were on tap to morph into John the Healer. Back at their flat, unless A&E was absolutely mandatory, John would patch up their hurts and dole out the pain relievers before providing tea and takeaway. Sherlock would shower, and then John would. Sherlock learned to be brief because John didn’t care for himself until Sherlock was completely checked over, so he’d wash as fast as he could, leaving the loo in time to let the weary and often bloodstained doctor get his turn.

That was part of their beginning. Sharing takeaway on the sofa while they watched something on the telly had lead to falling asleep side by side, dirty plates on laps and hands side by side. Eventually, they’d advanced enough to manage to get the plates onto the coffee table before falling asleep, and then they began to slump over, one against the other, propped up through the night. That slowly changed to falling over, one or the other limply flopped over to sleep against their dearest friend. After weeks, possibly months, and several cases later, they were here, laying tight together, John slumbering deeply inside the circle of Sherlock’s arms, one small hand pressed tight between Sherlock’s bigger ones.

He opened his eyes. Sherlock could feel John’s breathing increase as he slowly woke, but this time, unlike all the other times, John didn’t just sit up immediately, or dash off, claiming he needed the loo or tea or something that allowed him to gracefully escape. Today, John just yawned before shuffling his body around until he was facing Sherlock, eyes still closed, and threw his arm about Sherlock’s waist to pull their bodies tight together once more, their legs bent at the knees in a strangely pleasant tangle. Sherlock bent his neck a bit to peer down, wanting to witness the act that was making his entire body spark with happy contentment. Perfection had been miraculously exceeded, this was incredible.

Eyes still closed, John moved his own head, tilting it back until it was parallel with Sherlock’s face, and with shocking accuracy, moving forward exactly enough for their lips to meet. John kissed Sherlock lightly for a long moment before retreating and snuggling his face into Sherlock’s neck. Without thought, Sherlock’s now free hand rose and carefully, he stroked it down John’s neck and spine, dragging it up again to repeat the move. John made a rumbling sound and melted even more against Sherlock. Sherlock could still feel John’s lips against his own. He closed his eyes again and continued to run his hand lazily up and down John’s back.

He felt something moist against his neck, the small movement John was attempting to make. Helpfully, Sherlock lifted his chin and was rewarded with gentle kisses against his throat. Sighing, he relaxed and let John do as he pleased. It took a series of careful nudges and slow adjustments but eventually, Sherlock was on his back, his feet up on the arm of the sofa, knees bent a bit so that John, who was now straddling him, had to kneel directly over Sherlock’s groin. The good doctor had cleverly unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt and was languorously kissing his way over the newly uncovered expanse. Sherlock was discovering the fact that both his hands were able to slide beneath John’s untucked shirt and were currently feeling how John’s muscles moved. It was delightful.

John’s hands were busy undoing Sherlock’s flies, and then his own. Leaning forward, John captured Sherlock’s mouth with his, licking his way inward to kiss Sherlock deeply. Sherlock reciprocated by sliding his questing hands south and began to explore the lovely handfuls of John’s warm willing derriere. John’s hips bucked the tiniest amount when Sherlock slid a shameless finger between his cheeks, and the doctor groaned into Sherlock’s chest as that same finger pressed and rubbed slowly.

Sherlock made up his mind. Without letting go of John’s arse, he sat up, taking the surprised soldier with him. Holding him carefully, Sherlock stood, grunting a bit at their combined weight, and grateful that John was quick to throw his arms about Sherlock’s shoulders to hang on as he was carted off to Sherlock’s bedroom, the door firmly kicked shut behind them.

John was beautiful on his knees, hands clutching the sheets as Sherlock tasted him. Sherlock loved how he was able to grasp John’s cheeks to hold him wide open, loved how it felt to give him this kiss, what it was to know that his tongue was pushing deep into John’s body. They were both eager for the same thing, but Sherlock needed to do this, for both of them. He licked and poked, sometimes slobbering in his eagerness to open John, to make him wet and wanting. Gently, he introduced a single finger, taking it slow until John was eventually able to rock back hungrily on three. Sherlock fumbled around his drawer for the condoms and lubricant he kept there. The condoms were nearly expired but not yet, so desperately, Sherlock sheathed his dripping erection in one before using a generous amount of lubricant on them both, and then, sheathing himself in John. They groaned together. John was hungry and greedy for it, pushing back, taking Sherlock as quickly as he could manage.

Sherlock loved how John felt around his cock, so tight, so needy. Carefully, he held John’s hips to slow his rutting twists, thrusting forward at just the right angle to make his lover gasp and then groan. Precum was dripping from John’s thick cock and Sherlock was delighted that John’s DNA was now staining itself into his sheets. Beautiful. Leaning forward, Sherlock pressed his body against John’s, his hips jerking forward as he surrounded John with his flesh as much as he could, fucking his way deeper into John’s receptive body. He set his forearms next to John’s and gripped his hands, nuzzling into the back of John’s neck as his hips worked.

Sherlock didn’t let John touch himself. Instead, he teased John’s prostate with careful pushes, twisted his hips to cause his cock to swirl inside, making John’s groans louder as he was pushed closer and closer to his peak. Sherlock felt his own orgasm building, so he fucked John harder, determined to finish him before he lost control over himself. John was breathing hard now, his back slippery with sweat. He was working his hips now, meeting Sherlock’s thrusts so that their bodies began to slam together.

Sherlock was taken by surprise when John wrenched one hand free but instead of grasping his cock and stroking himself to orgasm, John managed to reach back to prevent Sherlock from thrusting inward. Feeling rejected, Sherlock began to pull away but John gripped his erection, and to his great surprise, stripped the condom right off of it before pressing the head of Sherlock’s cock back against his slippery hole.

Sherlock understood. They were both clean, their endless visits to A&E assured them that their blood panels were always current. Eagerly, Sherlock allowed himself to push inward, and suddenly, he was out of control. He couldn’t stop himself. The sensations were so visceral so intense, they overwhelmed his rational mind. Bucking hard, Sherlock began to thrust powerfully, ploughing his cock deep and fast into John’s tight clutching hole. He was moaning constantly, only the sounds of John’s grunts cutting through the white noise that deafened him as his heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. Like an animal, Sherlock lay fully on John, fucking his cock as fast and hard as he could, mindlessly seeking his own fulfilment. Cruelly, he pushed John down into the mattress, hammering into him for a long minute before he felt a quick series of almost rhythmic pulses squeezing his penis. With a shout, Sherlock began to orgasm, surge after surge of ejaculated springing forth and spilling deep into John.

Time drifted hazily by and they were motionless. Sherlock sucked in air and blinked rapidly as his brain came back online he became aware of the still body beneath him. Gingerly, Sherlock lifted himself off of John, carefully pulling his somewhat flaccid cock from the still tight grip of John’s hole. A smear of white followed his removal and Sherlock knew that this image of John’s lube-shiny swollen mess of an anus was the sexiest thing he’d ever witnessed. It instantly became a framed picture inside John’s floor of his mind palace.

Sherlock stumbled to the loo. Using a damp cloth, he wiped himself down quickly. Rinsing a clean flannel under hot water, he took it back to his room and used it to clean John up. As soon as he was done, Sherlock crept back into bed, pulling up a duvet to cover them both. Carefully, he drew John closer, fitting them both together, and holding him in his arms. Pressing a tender kiss to the back of John’s head, Sherlock closed his eyes once again, taking in every second as they precious gifts they were. When he was certain that he’d captured everything, Sherlock allowed his body to relax into sleep, his lover, his John, his everything, safe in his arms, right where he belonged.


End file.
